


Don't Know What You've Got...

by olivejuice28



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Clueless Draco, Co-workers, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-17 00:55:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21045632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olivejuice28/pseuds/olivejuice28
Summary: It took far too long for him to realize what had been right in front of him all this time, and now he was about to lose it.*Parallel story to "...Till It's Gone."*





	Don't Know What You've Got...

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: As much as I adore them all, I don't own any of the characters in the HP world, nor do I make any money off these little fantasies of mine ;)

**Don’t Know What You’ve Got… **

_He was in love with her._

How, in Merlin’s name, had it come to this? When had this happened? They had started out merely as coworkers four years ago, and after just a few months had become office neighbors when she’d taken the cubicle right next to his. He could confidently say that they had officially become friends within the year, and that friendship had grown stronger and more comfortable over time, and now…now…

He _loved_ her. And she was leaving.

This wasn’t happening. She couldn’t leave. For three years now they had spent every work day side-by-side, comparing notes, firing snarky comments at each other over their half-walls, sharing lunches in the Ministry café, and walking to the Leaky together on Fridays to meet friends. He was just as accustomed to the sound of her quill scratching away, and the tuneless humming that accompanied it, as he was his own breathing, and not an hour would usually go by without one or the other tossing a question out about the latest piece they were working on.

He had been completely blindsided when she announced a month ago that their boss was sending her abroad for twelve to eighteen months to help another Ministry incorporate some of the changes she’d initiated here in Britain. He hated that other Ministry; stupid, incompetent gits if they couldn’t do it on their own. Why couldn’t she just write it down and send an owl? Or floo call every week until they got it all done? What was he supposed to do without her?

_Buggering hell._

He had tried to be happy for her, seeing how excited she was, but was pretty sure the expression on his face was one of barely contained horror as she’d prattled on about everything she needed to do to prepare to go. He’d prayed to all the Founders that time would slow down, that someone would realize a mistake had been made and tell her she didn’t have to go after all. He’d tried ignoring the whole mess and acted as if there was no deadline approaching, no end to the perfect world he existed in right here, next to her.

But there was.

Yesterday morning, he’d stood by miserably as she packed up her knick-knacks, photos, and books from her workspace. Every time she placed something in the box, he wanted to take it right back out and put it right back where it belonged. He repressed several urges to set the whole lot on fire, as well as a frantic desire to grab her and apparate to some remote location where no one would find her, and therefore couldn’t make her leave. The truly ridiculous bit though, was the fact that at the time, he still didn’t understand why he felt that way. At first, he had chalked it up to being a severe creature of habit, and her leaving was throwing a drastic wrench in his daily routine. The thought of a new cubicle neighbor was positively alarming and he refused on principle to even entertain the idea of becoming friends with whoever had the misfortune of being placed next to him.

He’d also tried to rationalize his extreme response to her impending absence on an intellectual level; he’d rarely met anyone with a wit to match his own, but she was definitely on par. He truly enjoyed their friendly banter, and was often intrigued by her take on virtually anything. He respected her impeccable work ethic, which mirrored his own, and no longer bothered to hide how impressed he was by her knowledge and skill across a wide range of areas. Who else was going to debate the merits of archaic magical law, or pick apart the overlapping translations of little-known spells with him? Who else could hold their own against him in a heated discussion without hexing his smug arse (he knew he often deserved it) into next week?

Last night, he had joined everyone else in their department, as well as countless others from various sectors of the Ministry, as they’d gathered for a congratulations/we’ll miss you/farewell party in the atrium. He had stayed close by, refilling her drink and providing idle chit-chat in between well-wishers. Every single time a friend or coworker approached to echo similar mundane sentiments, he wanted to yell at them for being so bloody supportive. He had a fleeting vision of himself, standing up on one of the tables and demanding that everyone stop _right now_ because this was ridiculous, and demand to know how they could possibly be okay with her going. Didn’t they understand that the world as they knew it would cease to exist without her?

_But perhaps it was just his world…_

As the party concluded, he’d walked her to one of the fireplaces so she could floo home. She’d set down her box of desktop-clutter and wrapped her arms around his waist. He’d been slightly surprised, but perfectly content to return the gesture, resting his chin on top of her curls. He’d felt an uncomfortable squeezing in his chest, and a lump like a snitch seemed to be lodged in his throat. Before he could contemplate the meaning of it all, she had pulled back and gazed up at him, a small smile on her face. She’d placed her palm on the side of his jaw and gently caressed his cheek with her thumb. He’d simply stared at her for a moment, trying to ingrain her features in his memory when she’d reached up on tiptoe and kissed him softly on his other cheek, and whispered “goodbye.” He’d stayed rooted there as she swiftly turned away, picked up her box, and walked straight into the bright green flames, though he was certain he saw her wipe her eyes as she spun out of sight.

He had gone home immediately after and was completely at a loss for what to do. His mind kept replaying those last few seconds with her and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had somehow missed an opportunity. He had told her, several days ago, that he was going to miss her, so surely it couldn’t be that. Granted, he had said it while chuckling, after one of their infamous arguments which had ended with him proving he was right this time, and her responding by sticking her tongue out at him and setting his parchment on fire. He had also congratulated her on the promotion, and he had genuinely meant it. He knew she deserved it, regardless of how much he loathed the idea of losing her, and had even bought a celebratory scone to go with her morning cup of Earl Grey. He supposed this was just residual frustration over the whole ordeal and was determined to conquer it.

He grabbed the novel she had recommended last week and settled into his favorite armchair with a tumbler of Ogden’s, planning to engross himself and his overactive sentiments in some literary therapy, but it was not to be. Thirty minutes later, he was still staring at the first page of the first chapter, with no clue what the author was trying to say, and a growing gnawing feeling in his gut. He assumed that was hunger and went to find himself a snack. Four biscuits, half a sandwich, a piece of chocolate cake, and two-thirds of a container of ice cream later, he was no better off, except for a possible sugar buzz. Deciding sleep was now his best course of action, he readied for bed and spent the better part of the next three hours tossing, turning, glaring at the clock, and recalling the enticing vanilla and orange blossom scent she’d been wearing lately, until he finally gave it up as a bad job and got back out of bed.

Pacing back and forth in front of his fireplace, he started talking to himself. He often found he thought better out loud, which was one of the many reasons he appreciated having such an astute coworker next to him. She could listen to his mutterings while still doing her own work, but would regularly toss out ideas, or point out inconsistencies in his musings that he had missed. They worked so well together, it was as if she sometimes functioned as the other half of his brain. His other half…

That thought drew him up short. He stood in the middle of his living room, wide eyed and shocked at the revelation. Once again, his brain generated image after image of her; her eyes twinkling with laughter, her curls whipping around in the breeze, her hand on his arm, her mouth curved in a teasing smile. He thought about all the things he appreciated and admired about her, about how much a part of his life she had become over the past three years, and about how much of a gigantic hole there would be now that she was leaving. No one else would be able to fill that void, and more importantly, he didn’t want anyone else to fill it.

_He only wanted her_.

Oh, Salazar’s skirts, what was he supposed to do with _that_. He paced for another twenty minutes and came to the conclusion that he couldn’t let her go without telling her. He knew it wouldn’t change anything; she still had a job to do; but at least she would know how he felt. He wasn’t entirely sure that was a brilliant idea, but it was the one he was sticking with, and had almost thrown a handful of floo powder into his grate when he realized it probably wouldn’t go over very well if he just showed up in the middle of her living room at four o’clock in the morning. No, he’d wait till seven. Still early, but hopefully she’d be up and doing last-minute packing and whatnot, since he knew she’d be eager to get going. Again, he was reminded of how well-acquainted he truly was with her and it astounded him that he hadn’t figured this all out ages ago. He really was quite thick, he supposed, but only in this instance, clearly.

After showering, dressing, changing twice, gulping a strong cup of coffee (tea was _not_ going to cut it this morning) and giving himself a rather stern talking-to in front of the mirror, he swept out of his flat on a mission. First, he stopped at her favorite café to pick up a steaming cup of Earl Grey and a bag of scones (blueberry, of course). Next, he waited impatiently for the florist to open so he could grab a small bouquet of pink roses, which he then cast a complicated charm on so that they would bloom indefinitely. Finally, he decided it was time and in an instant, found himself on the front steps of her flat, feeling more nervous than he ever had in his life. He knocked on the door and cringed at the echoing sound in the early morning quiet.

His previous suspicions were confirmed, though, when she opened the door after just a few seconds, fully dressed and awake, her eyes going wide with surprise as she took in the sight of him. She welcomed him in and he followed her to the kitchen where she had just put the kettle on to boil.

“I…I brought these for you.” He set the cup and bag from the café on the counter, and held the flowers out to her. Her smile was radiant as she took them and grew even wider when he explained the charm on them.

“Thank you so much. They’re lovely.” She inhaled their perfume and looked at him with a slightly bemused expression. “Why are you up and about so early this morning?”

This was it. Now or never, and though the cowardly part of him was screaming “never,” he knew he had to forge ahead, regardless of what her response might be. “I, uh, just wanted to tell you,” he cleared his throat and forced himself to look straight in her eyes, which were still trained on him, and really were a lovely shade of brown. “I really, really don’t want you to leave.” He took the flowers from her, placed them on the counter, and took both of her hands in his own. “I know I said I’ll miss you, and I’ll hate whoever moves into your cubicle, and I will, most assuredly. But it’s more than that.” He cleared his throat again and dropped his gaze to their hands. “I think…no, I know, that I…that I love you.” He heaved a deep sigh and took a glance at her to find her watching him intently. “I couldn’t let you leave without telling you.”

She smiled softly at him. “I know.”

_What?_

He snapped his gaze fully back to her, gaping like a fish. What did she mean? How could she…when he didn’t even…not until last night…_what_?

She chuckled at the dumbfounded look on his face and shrugged. “I’ve known for a while, I think.” His brows cocked in question, though he was still unable to formulate actual words. “Oh, come on, Malfoy,” she giggled. “You’ve brought a cup of tea to my desk every morning for the last two and half years. You’ve given me my favorite flowers for my last three birthdays; I don’t even think Harry knows I love orchids. You never let me walk out alone at night after work or drinks. You spent the whole day here with me after Crookshanks died, and I know you missed a Quidditch match for that. You got me tickets to the ballet for Christmas, after hearing me mention one time, ages ago, that I’d been wanting to go. You’re always checking in on me, encouraging me, looking out for me.” She searched his face for understanding. “I’ve paid attention, you know?”

He was gobsmacked. She was right, of course, he had done all of those things and countless others, but he had never stopped to consider why he was doing them. It had just become part of his life. She had become part of his life, in more ways than he’d even realized. Suddenly, a thought like a bucket of ice water came crashing over him; she had noticed, but she had never said anything. What did that mean? “You knew? But you never…” he trailed off, unable to finish the unbearable thought.

“I just knew you needed to realize it in your own time.” She gave a small smirk, her eyes twinkling slightly. “You can be rather obtuse sometimes.”

He huffed with indignation, still not comfortable with the fact that he didn’t know how she felt about this revelation he’d been so delayed in experiencing. His brows creased with worry, unsure how to go about asking the question he desperately needed an answer to, but she broke in with a question of her own.

“How do you think I feel about all of this?” She asked kindly, genuinely curious about his take on things. He didn’t know how to answer that. He didn’t want to presume anything, and he was pretty sure his reluctance to respond was written clearly on his face. “Think about it for a minute.” She encouraged him. So he did.

He thought about all the times he’d arrive at his desk to find a tin of homemade biscuits or truffles (his favorite). How she’d surprised him with tickets to a Portree match for his birthday last year, saying she’d overheard him telling Blaise he’d wanted to go. How she always saved him a seat at meetings, or at the pub, and how she always seemed to look for him wherever they went. How they’d attended every Ministry function together over the last three years, and how even though they mingled with others, they'd always gravitate back to each other. How she had sat on a frozen park bench with him for hours the day he’d found out his father had died in Azkaban. How she’d shown up at his flat last month when he’d come down with a nasty cold to bring him homemade soup, and a sack full of takeaway from his favorite restaurant, and had even taken care of the laundry and washing up while she kept him company. How she’d championed his ideas at work, and supported him in every way. How he was now positive she’d been wiping tears from her eyes last night as she’d said goodbye to him in the atrium.

He stared at her in wonder as he tried to wrap his mind around what it all meant, and then reality came storming into the room. “But, you’re leaving.” He stated the fact with undisguised bitterness, which surprisingly caused her to snort with laughter.

“Yes, I do still have a job to get to.” She loosened her hands from his grip and slid them up his arms, peering into his eyes with sincerity. “But it’s only for a year, eighteen months, tops. I’ll be home for holidays and breaks, and I can have visitors, yeah?” She smirked again. “It’s not like I’m moving to another planet.” He didn’t look quite mollified yet, so she stepped closer and whispered. “In case you’re still not sure how I’m feeling…”

And she kissed him.

Not on the cheek like the night before, but with her soft lips on his and immediately all his doubts slipped away. He angled his head, deepening the kiss, and wrapped his arms around her. Part of him was cursing himself six ways to Sunday for taking so long to come to his senses, but the larger part of him was so very relieved to know she returned his affections, and never wanted this moment to end. When finally they broke apart, both slightly flushed and grinning madly, he asked her to go to breakfast, which she enthusiastically agreed to. It would be their first official date, and then he’d see her off that afternoon. She wrote down her new address for him so he could owl, and promised to get her floo set up for calls as soon as possible. Yes, she was still leaving, but she would be back, and above all else, she was his.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there! This is the first fic I've ever posted on any site, so I'm a little nervous about how it's going to be received. There's a parallel story to this one, titled "Till It's Gone," that's from Hermione's POV. Hope you enjoy it!


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